Fluff & Other Good Stuff
by YourGleek
Summary: The title is self explanatory! This will be a random assortment of Pezberry one-shots that come in all different varieties of cute!
1. Slaying Spiders

**AN: So, it might be apparent that I'm kind of obsessed with Pezberry fluff and after a little collaboration with the wonderful author, GorgeousSmile, I've decided to start a one-shot series! Yay! I decided to keep them grouped together so that it would be easier for alerts, for those who may want them. Also, all reviews, etc. are dedicated to GorgeousSmile because without them there wouldn't have been a super duper, awesomely fluffy list of ideas for me to write from! Thanks! :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters except for the nasty spider.**

**Technically, these one shots won't be related to my other stories (Look for an update soon!) but this one was inspired by the mention of Santana being afraid of spiders in my story, Finding Santana. Hope you like it!**

* * *

><p>Slaying Spiders<p>

As Santana struggled to make her way towards she and Rachel's en suite bathroom in the dark for water, she felt as if she had just been resurrected from the dead instead of sleep. After hours of sex and four orgasms later – only counting her own – her legs still felt like jelly and her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, probably from sweating out all of her hydration with their Olympic worthy scissoring. She just wanted to curl into Rachel to sleep for a million more years. Or at least until the alarm clock went off.

But for feeling as out of it as she did, when she flipped on the bathroom light and spotted the dark colored spider in the threshold she was able to somehow jump nearly ten feet to the left, landing on top of their cherry wood vanity while screaming the entire time.

"What's wrong? Santana! Where are you!"

Suddenly, the bedroom light came on thanks to a panicked Rachel and she found her wife crouched on the biggest piece of furniture in their room – aside from the bed where she should have been. She was wrapped in the charcoal grey top sheet that had long been forgotten on the floor in their love making frenzy and sporting an expression of utter terror.

"Why are you up there!" Rachel asked quickly, and then surveyed the room for any imminent threats that would have caused the dramatic reaction. Her eyes were still trying to adjust to the sudden, blinding light but she still couldn't see anything that warranted Santana acting like a woman possessed.

"There's a huge spider right there by the door! I think it's a black widow or maybe a tarantula, it's like as big as a baseball!" Santana blathered, and clutched her sheet tightly around her chest.

Rachel sighed and headed towards the closet. "How big is it really?"

"It's really big! I swear, it is! But where are you going! Don't leave me here!" the Latina shouted frantically, as Rachel disappeared out of view.

"I'm getting my robe, my goodness, Santana…"

Ignoring her wife's tone, which was so obviously trying to tell her she was over reacting, Santana carefully eyed the eight legged invader. Everything was seeming as if there would be enough time for Rachel to come back and dispose of it, but that all changed when it began scurrying across the carpeting. Santana pushed herself further back onto the vanity and set to screaming again. "Rachel! _Rachel! __**Rachel!**_"

"What! What's wrong now!" The petite brunette was still trying to get her arms in the sleeves of her robe as she nearly sprinted out of the closet with a flashlight in hand.

"It crawled under the bed!" Santana cried, while looking so anguished that there may have been a real possibility of tears being shed.

Rolling her eyes, Rachel got down on her hands and knees, lifted the bed sham and clicked on the flashlight. Due to Santana's not-so-mild case of arachnophobia this definitely was not her first spider wrangling rodeo.

"Be careful, baby…" Santana called from the safety of her perch.

"You act like I'm slaying a dragon," Rachel huffed and then turned the flashlight off, ending her very brief search. "And I don't see anything."

"It's there!" insisted Santana, pointing her index finger urgently. "I know it's there!"

"Well, if I can't find it then I can't do anything about it. So, I'm sorry, sweetheart, but it looks like this dragon got away." After setting the flashlight on their bedside table, Rachel reached out a hand toward Santana who had made herself more comfortable by sitting cross legged. "Come on, come back to bed. You're acting like me."

Santana furrowed her brows in frustration and slapped her hand on the vanity's smooth surface. "Are you kidding me! I can't sleep with that _thing_ lurking underneath us! I am _not_ coming over there…you're crazy."

"Oh, Santana, my darling badass…" Rachel said whimsically, as she approached her and took both of her hands by force. "You _are_ going to go back to sleep, because I have to get up in five hours and you're not keeping me awake." She pulled the pouting Latina off the desk, walked her towards their bed and then pushed her into the middle of it before spooning her from behind, using her arms and a leg over her hips to keep her in place.

Santana whimpered helplessly, thinking about all the horrific outcomes that might take place because of this situation. That spider might crawl up her nose if she fell asleep or maybe take up residence in her ear, and then it would surely lay eggs that would consume her brain. "Rachel, please, I can't sleep like this," she whined.

"Shh…" Rachel whispered against her ear, the one that was most likely going to be violated by a spider soon. She ran her fingertips through Santana's jet colored hair, but it didn't make her feel any more at ease. "I'll keep you safe. Now, go back to sleep, okay?"

"No!" Santana whispered harshly. "Not okay! You're being the worst wife ever right now!"

"Mhmm, okay, baby…"

After Rachel had fallen back to sleep, Santana was left alone with her thoughts and the ever elusive spider – wherever it may have been. Every brush of material, every tickle of Rachel's hair falling against her skin felt like an arachnophobic nightmare and it was giving her high blood pressure. She was already close to hyperventilating when something tickled across the top of her exposed foot and then there was no way she was staying in that bed. She bolted upright and away to find the light switch, sure that when the lights came on she was going to find Rachel encased in a mutant-like spider's web.

"Ugh, what now?" the brunette on the bed asked as she covered her eyes and tossed in annoyance.

"I felt something run acro –"

Before Santana could finish Rachel was screaming bloody murder and nearly bowling her over as she raced to get out of the room. Once in the hallway, she continued to do a strange jerking dance while shrieking and vigorously shaking out her long, loose locks.

"What! What! What's wrong!" Santana tried to shout over the raucous.

"It was crawling on me!"

"Ugh!" Santana squealed in disgust and then began doing a crazy jig of her own, even though the chances of the spider being on her were decidedly slim.

"Let's get out of here!" Rachel suggested, and then took her wife's hand.

Santana willingly followed along, but not before closing their bedroom door in hopes of keeping the beast contained. It could have her silk pillowcases without question.

Twenty minutes later, all was calm in the Lopez household but the two women cozied up in blankets on the leather couch were still very much sleepless. The spider – Santana was sure – was ransacking their bedroom and she was perfectly okay with that.

"You were scared of it," Santana whispered into Rachel's neck. She was lying on the smaller woman's chest, while usually the roles were reversed. She felt that after the ordeal she had been through she deserved a little babying.

"It just surprised me and not to mention it was actually on me!" Rachel argued in her defense. "You barely see a spider and you're climbing the furniture."

"It startled me, okay!"

"Mhmm, sure…" Rachel walked her fingertips up Santana's bare back with feather light touches, making her shiver violently.

"Don't do that!" But Rachel did keep doing it, just to hear Santana whine because she rarely did it and it was actually pretty cute. "Stop it, Rachel!"

_"Stop it, Rachel!"_ the petite brunette mocked back and then began attacking her wife's neck with kisses. After a bit of a tickle and kiss fight, Rachel managed to get Santana onto her back so she could straddle her hips. From the vantage point, she continued her teasing by tracing her fingertips up Santana's arm to her neck. "The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout, then it crawled under our bed and made Santana pout…"

"You're being so mean right now. If you don't stop singing that your itsy bitsy ass is getting a divorce."

"You love my ass," Rachel rasped into her ear, before taking it between her teeth.

"Not right now I don't," Santana countered, while trying to cross her arms.

Rachel stopped her and guided her to put her arms over her head to lay on the armrest. "Well, what if I did this…" She slowly slipped two fingers down Santana's toned stomach and then just a little further, making her back arch. "Do you love me now?"

The Latina's eyes slipped shut and her mouth fell open. "O-oh…" she sighed. "Y-yeah…I love you."

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Despite the eventful night she had had, Santana woke up a positively sated woman. That was until she stepped into the kitchen still clad in only a blanket (because she was _not_ going up to the spider quarantine room) and nearly jumped out of her skin. There on the countertop, a little glass jar containing said infamous spider was acting as a paper weight to a piece of lavender stationery paper.

"Ugh!" Santana exclaimed in disgust, as she grabbed a corner of the paper and tugged it out from under the glass.

_Good morning, Gorgeous ~_

_I found your eight legged friend on the bedroom wall before I left for work this morning, so I thought I would give you the chance to thank him for the ahhhmazing sex we had (again) last night._

"That little bitch..."

_I already know what you're thinking, 'That little bitch…' But I just can't help it that I love seeing that pouty face you're going to make at me when I get home so much. Don't worry though, he's fairly friendly and I promise I'll take care of him right after I get home and take care of you. I love you with everything that I am, Santana, and I will always slay the spiders for you, darling._

_Your wife,_

_~ Rachel_

After reading the short note, Santana couldn't help but be all smitten smiles and she certainly couldn't be mad at the spider for crawling into her bedroom anymore. She would have been crawling in there as well if she wasn't already married to the sweetest woman imaginable, who slept there each night with her.

Picking up the jar, Santana sighed to herself. The spider wasn't really that big or scary, actually he was kind of tiny – like Rachel – but with six too many eyes and legs.

"Well, I guess I owe you a thank you, little buddy," Santana said, but then stuck her tongue out in repulsion and suffered a full body tremor. "But I'm still _never_ going to like you as much as I'll love her for squishing you when she gets home from work tonight, you creepy bastard."


	2. Power Lesbians Need Pampering Too

**AN: The prompt for this one was to bring out Santana's soft side and to dig through all of her bitchiness to get to her needy, cuddly side. So, after a long day at work San comes home and uses all her dramatic skills to get her wife's attention. Yes, wife...somehow these first two one-shots ended up being future fics. They won't all be future fics, but I guess I'm just feelin' the domestic Pezberry lately, I don't know!**

* * *

><p>Power Lesbians Need Pampering Too<p>

"_Rachel!"_

"In the kitchen…" a light voice called out to Santana as she jabbed furiously at the button that closed the elevator doors to their apartment. The doors would have closed themselves, but there had been a lot of aggression built up throughout the day and _something_ was going to have to deal with it.

"You will not believe the hellish day I had!" the fuming Latina practically shouted, as she stomped through the kitchen towards the table, thoroughly ignoring her wife who was busy preparing dinner. Her leather shoulder bag slammed loudly on the marble tile as she let it slide off her arm and Rachel winced as she continued slicing scallions, feeling bad for the MacBook Air the bag housed. Sometimes Santana and her temper were harmless, other times they had been known to cause some damage.

"First!" Santana began, after kicking a black patent Louboutin pump so it skittered across the floor. "I'm late for work because every motherfucking slow-ass cab in New York decided to get in front of _my_ equally slow-ass cab!"

The second shoe went flying and Rachel looked down out of the corner of her eye to see where it had slid to a stop next to her. _13" MacBook Air - $1600. 5.5" Christian Louboutins - $800. Wanting to strangle my wife within an inch of her life for trashing them – priceless!_

"Second! My fucking period starts like five days early! Like, what the fucking fuck! But that's not even the best part! Who didn't have even one goddamn tampon so she had to send her secretary to get some! Oh, that would be this bitch, right here! So, meanwhile, what's-her-face goes to get the stupid tampons and I'm stuck in my office bleeding down my fucking leg like a trauma patient! Thank God, I wore black today!"

Rachel had to wonder how high Santana was going to go with her list, because she had only made it to number two yet she had said enough expletives to make the entire Navy blush. She just continued with her task and listened patiently, knowing that it had to end eventually.

"Third! My dick of a boss tries to pawn this new whore off on me for training and I'm just like, fuck no, but of course, I had to do it anyway! Fourth! Oh, fuck the numbers! It was just a really shitty day, okay?" Santana went on, while glaring at anything and everything that met her gaze. Shrugging her jacket off and tossing it on the table, she revealed her now crumpled white shirt and black suspenders.

It was an outfit that Rachel normally found irresistibly sexy when Santana wasn't being so volatile – scratch that – it was even sexier on a mad and sneering Latina. But she just wasn't taking any chances getting that close to her to show her how much she appreciated the view yet.

Santana slumped down into a chair and rested her elbows on the table as she pressed her palms over her eyes, making her black hair curtain her face. She was secretly wondering how much more dramatic she would have to be to make her wife pay attention to her. "Stupid fucking period, stupid fucking boss, stupid everything," she grumbled under her breath and then peeked out to see if Rachel was looking yet. "And then – on top of all that – I've had a migraine from hell since like noon!"

Without saying a word, Rachel finished what she was doing, washed her hands and then gathered up two different bottles. Then, she approached her stressed beauty and presented the bottles – one of Excedrin and the other of red wine. "Choose one," she advised.

Grimacing at the bottles through the cracks in her fingers, Santana groaned, "I need both. I need a fucking tranquilizer…"

"That's the twelfth time you've said fuck. At ease, Sailor Santana," Rachel laughed. Although she was honestly unfazed, she had heard much filthier things come from those pretty, full lips and usually she was the one encouraging them. "And you're getting the Excedrin, by the way."

"Fine…"

After fetching a glass of ice water, Rachel went back to Santana and gently rubbed her shoulder, causing her to sit up so she could situate herself sitting on her lap. As soon as she was settled Santana looped her arms around her waist and buried her face in the underside of her chin, sighing heavily.

"Feelin' better, babe?" Rachel asked, after the Latina had taken her pills and downed the water.

Santana shook her head in disagreement, hid her face, and squeezed the smaller woman tighter around her middle. "I just…" she tried to decide what she wanted to say, but her head was pounding and she just felt awful. "I just wanted to come home to you all day because everything was so terrible, and then I got home and I couldn't even get a hug because you were making enchiladas, which are my favorite and –" a sob tore from her throat, "Oh, Rach, it was just _such_ a bad day!"

"Shh, it's okay, you're home now," Rachel whispered against dark hair, while smoothing a hand up and down Santana's back. "Why didn't you call me earlier? We could have talked for a while."

"I was too busy," Santana replied, her voice still choked.

"Aw, well come on, let's make up for it now," Rachel suggested.

She then guided Santana to the living room by the hand as if she was a child, which was just about accurate when she was sick, upset, or stressed. Underneath the sleek hair, the bitchy stares, and the sharp power suits of magazine editor Santana, there was a five year old hidden somewhere that usually just needed some cuddling and kisses to feel better.

Rachel drew the curtains closed to dim the room while Santana lied down on the leather couch, nearly sighing with pleasure from the feeling of the cool surface. With fumbling fingers, she set to yanking her high ponytail out of its holder (doing nothing for her migraine) and then unbuttoned her dress pants and untucked her shirt.

"I'm going to grab you an icepack, okay?"

"No, don't go," Santana whined softly, pouting her bottom lip and grabbing for Rachel's pant leg. "I just need some snuggles or something."

Leaning down so that their noses were almost touching, the petite brunette whispered, "Honey, I'm your wife, I know exactly what you need. Just hang tight for a second, okay?" With that, she kissed Santana's forehead and headed back to the kitchen where she could be heard rummaging through the freezer.

"Okay, here you go," Rachel said once she had come back with an icepack wrapped in a hand towel.

Santana used her best puppy eyes and cute crooked smile as she asked, "Will you do it for me? _Please?_" The other woman rolled her eyes but then mirrored the smile and assisted Santana in lifting her head to place the icepack behind her neck. "Ohh, that feels so good…"

Santana was so distracted by the coolness spreading up the back of her throbbing skull that she didn't even realize Rachel had sat down until she started massaging one of her high heel abused feet.

"Oh my God, yes…" Santana moaned, while arching her back and stretching to get more comfortable.

Rachel giggled and admired the hot pink polish on the Latina's toes; beneath the sternness and attitude there was so much playfulness that hardly anyone got to witness. "If this is all I have to do to make you moan so much then I guess we can probably lay off in the bedroom…"

"Woman," Santana's sudden serious voice warned. "Don't you even play with me." Threatening her sex life was a sure way of getting the twenty-seven year old version of Santana to come back out in no time.

After a few minutes of what felt like the best foot massage of her life, the Latina was drifting off to sleep and she couldn't keep her long black lashes from fluttering. When Rachel pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and spread it out as she curled into Santana's side, it made the fight to stay awake even harder.

"I'm about to fall asleep…"

"That's okay, go ahead," Rachel told her, and then kissed her cheek.

"But what about my enchiladas?"

"They will be ready and waiting for you when you wake up."

There was a long pause in which Santana went very still and quiet and Rachel was sure she had checked out. But she was wrong.

"Rachel?"

"Yes, San?"

"Did you get that hot sauce I like? You know, my favorite?"

Rachel couldn't help but smile at Santana's raspy, groggy voice and she just had to have a real kiss this time. "Yes, I did."

"Awesome…" Santana whispered slowly and sleepily. "I love you, Rach. You're definitely my favorite wife."

"As far as I know I'm your only wife, but thank you, baby. I love you all the same."

Oh yeah, Santana was definitely an adorably needy little kid at heart, but aside from the woman she loved she was doing a pretty good job of fooling everyone else.


	3. Adventures In Babysitting

**AN: Just think of this as a belated Mother's Day inspired one-shot! This is another future fic, but I have two in the works that are from their younger days! Maybe even one from their playground days? Stay tuned to find out! Hope you like it! :) **

* * *

><p>Adventures In Babysitting<p>

"Santana, you can do it better than that. You're holding her like you're offering her up for sacrifice. Hold her closer to your body, I know you know how to…"

"Don't tell me what I know how to do!" Santana shot back in her own defense, as she stared down uneasily at the tiny, peaceful creature resting on her open hands at the end of outstretched arms. "I didn't want to hold this _thing_ in the first place. You just made me!"

Rachel glared at her wife after setting down a diaper bag, a folded up stroller, a small pink blanket, and a duffel bag. "She's not a thing, Santana! She has a name and it's Cara, so I suggest you remember it and stop calling the poor thing a thing. Or else I'm telling Brittany and Mike, and you know Brittany wouldn't like to hear that her daughter's godmother, Auntie Tana, doesn't even really like her."

"You just called her a thing," Santana pointed out annoyingly. "She just called you a thing," she said to the dark haired baby she awkwardly held.

"For goodness' sake, all I needed you to do was hold her for two seconds while I carried all of her things in and you can't even do that right!" Rachel griped, while beginning to take a variety of pastel colored items out of the bags.

Santana's arms were about to give out from the strange position and she wished that Rachel would just come and literally take the infant off her hands. Honestly – although she would never admit it out loud – it wasn't that she didn't like Cara. It was just that she was so small and delicate and she was secretly afraid of upsetting her or worse yet, somehow breaking her. "Well, if you just needed to do that then why are you starting to unpack things instead of coming over here to take her back?"

"Because you need to get used to her, that why! She's going to be here _all_ day and _all_ night until tomorrow, in case you forgot." Rachel noisily tipped over an empty baby bottle onto the kitchen countertop and Santana quickly bowed her head, furiously scrutinizing her young charge for any signs of waking. The last thing she needed was for the baby to actually come to life and be active.

"Oh, I most certainly did not forget," Santana snapped sarcastically. "How could I forget that my idea of a great Saturday afternoon has been ruined by having to babysit a smelly, whiny, messy baby? I could be making sweet love to you, trying to get you pregnant all I wanted but then resting assured that I can't and never will be able to!"

"You're so overly dramatic, Santana," sighed Rachel, as she opened the bottle and began putting in powdered formula.

"What are you doing with that?" Santana quickly asked.

The smaller brunette tossed a hand up in exasperation. "Are you from another planet? Have you actually not seen any of the necessary activities that need to be carried out in order to properly care for an infant? I'm making a bottle, it _should _be obvious. Now, go sit down on the couch so we can feed her after I heat this up."

Santana obeyed the command and headed for the living room. She had high hopes that 'we' actually equated to 'Rachel' because there was no way she was getting milky baby drool on her or her outfit. Sitting down on the couch, she set her forearms on her knees, giving her muscles a rest and still keeping the sleeping Cara at a distance.

"And when I come in there, if you're not holding her nicely and actually acting like you love her then I _am_ going to hit you!"

"You would hit someone who's holding a baby!" Santana called back. Her wife had pushed all of her buttons by agreeing to this whole babysitting ordeal, so she was trying her damndest to push a few buttons in return. "Rachel, that's just sick!"

When the other woman came into the living room, Santana wasn't doing as she had been advised and she did get a smack to the back of the head. "Ow!" she cried, ducking her head in fear of another one. "That hurt!"

"It was hardly a love tap. Now, for the last time, hold her properly," the petite brunette said and her tone revealed that she really did mean business.

The Latina rolled her eyes, tossed her head around a little, and made a few sounds of disapproval before finally getting the baby cradled against her chest. "There, happy now?" she asked, looking anywhere but at her wife or Cara. "I don't know what you're trying to do anyway, she's not even awake."

As if Rachel and Cara worked on the same wavelength, the baby began fussing lightly before opening her eyes and locking gazes with Santana.

"Oh, no…don't give me that look. I'm definitely _not_ your mother," she said as the baby continued to watch her face. As the seconds passed and neither of the two wavered from each other's eyes, Cara's barely-there eyebrows began to scrunch and light whimpers began to escape her. "No! No, don't cry! Rachel, quick, the bottle! Shove it in her mouth before she can start crying!"

"Honestly, Santana, what's wrong with you?" Rachel quizzed as she shook her head. She pet the baby's wispy hair and offered her the bottle, while cooing, "There you go, sweetheart. Don't listen to Aunt Santana, she's a meany."

"And Aunt Rachel is being bitchy…"

_"Santana! _You can't swear in front of small children!"

The Latina screwed up her face. "Why? Because she just might understand? Pshh, not!"

Rachel narrowed her eyes in irritation when Santana smirked at her; it was a logical point. "Just don't swear around her," she said, and then moved to leave again. "I think the formula needs to be warmer."

"You're leaving me alone again?" Santana whined, while hoping that Cara could remain quiet and calm for however long it was going to take to reheat a bottle.

"You're really starting to piss me off!" a voice shouted back from the kitchen.

Santana grinned and then found herself looking down at Cara, sharing the smile with her. "Aunt Rachel just swore!" she said, loud enough for the other woman to hear. Then, something surprising happened that made that area below her left breast pang with emotion – Cara gurgled and smiled back. At first, she thought it was some show of distress, but when the baby continued making high pitched squealing noises that revealed her shiny, pink gums Santana was mesmerized.

"Hey…" she said softly, her smile turning smitten as her niece continued to babble all sorts of happy noises at her. It was like she was being sucked into those little brown eyes and soon she was holding out her finger for the baby to grasp.

"What are you doing? Trying to poke her eye out while I'm not looking?" Rachel questioned, as she breezed back into the room.

Santana automatically put a scowl back on. "No, I was just…I thought she had a bug on her or something, okay?"

Rachel shot her wife a look that meant, 'I think you're mentally unstable,' and then handed her the bottle. "Here, let's get her fed so we can go to the park this afternoon…"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"I'm not wearing that contraption!" Santana vehemently insisted as Rachel held up something that was obviously some sort of medieval torture device. There were snaps, straps, and buckles sticking out from all directions and it was definitely where Santana was drawing the line.

"Why won't you?" Rachel asked exasperatedly, dropping the baby carrier at her side and cocking her head expectantly.

The Latina began pacing back and forth in the living room, brandishing her finger and wildly gesturing to herself. "Because a papoose does _not_ go with Prada, that's why!"

Cara released a cry, making both the women turn towards where she was lying on a pink blanket on the floor with plush toys surrounding her. "See, now you've upset her. She wants to go to the park," the petite brunette said while waving her arm towards the baby. "You're wearing it and I don't care if it goes with your Prada heels or not."

Santana crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin. "You can't make me…"

Rachel mirrored her stance and gave her a bright smile, letting her know that she was about to lose the battle. "But I can make your life a living hell and never have sex with you again!"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Twenty minutes later, Santana was standing outside their apartment building waiting for Rachel with a tiny human strapped to her chest.

"She always gets what she wants and what do I get? Nothing, that's what! Don't ever get married, Cara, it's just awful! Everyone makes it sound like it's going to be all sex and snuggles, but really it's just your wife threatening to withhold sex! Ugh, it's so stupid!"

When Rachel finally emerged from the doors Santana began a new round of complaints. "Rachel, I'm not trying to be like difficult or anything, but I just really can't rock this look."

Slipping her sunglasses on and tossing her hair over her shoulder to let the summer breeze kiss her skin, Rachel sarcastically laughed, "That's just the problem with you, San. You're never trying to be difficult but you always are. Now, come along, we have a date to attend in the park!"

For the most part, the walk to the park was quiet except for Cara's babbling and cooing. That was until Cara fell silent and Santana spoke up in a quiet, uncertain voice.

"Rachel, I have a problem…"

"What now!"

Santana stopped walking and tugged on her wife's hand to make her face her, then pointed at the baby with an uncomfortable and horrified expression on her face. In favor of making noises, Cara had latched onto the swell of breast that was hardly contained by Santana's low tank top and was sucking furiously.

"What do I do?" Santana asked in a whisper, while standing very still as if at any second Cara would be transformed into a carnivorous beast that would devour her.

After rolling her eyes, Rachel then pried Cara's face away, much to her disappointment.

"She's like a fricken barnacle!" the Latina cried, not believing what her weekend had turned out to be.

"No, she's a _baby,_" Rachel informed, as they continued walking. "It's a natural reaction for her to do that, it's just what babies do. They like breasts, they're comforting to them."

Santana could only huff and try to enjoy herself as best she could. "Yeah, well, I'm a lesbian and I like boobs as much as any baby. So, I guess if you ever see me motorboating some chick, you can't get mad because it's just a natural reaction for me. They're comforting!"

"We are _so_ not having sex tonight…"

"You would try to have sex with me while our niece is in the apartment? God, Rachel, you really are sick!"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"Come on, let's take her to the duck pond. I bet she loves ducks just like her mommy!"

While frowning behind her large dark sunglasses, Santana followed her wife around with her itty bitty Siamese twin. "Don't talk to me. It's your fault that I have so much drool running down my cleavage that I might as well be wearing a water bra." After many failed attempts to keep Cara from sucking on her chest Santana decided to just let her tire herself out, but so far it was a pretty amusing past time for her.

Rachel was not only highly irritated with Santana's continuing behavior; she was actually starting to feel a bit hurt. The Latina seemed so disgusted with the whole day despite the gorgeous weather and their cute little counterpart. It was making Rachel feel like eventually having a baby of their own would never be an option for them.

"You know what, Santana! I'm going to get something to drink and you can just do whatever the hell _you_ want since you seem to be so angry with me anyway!" Rachel announced in a yell, before dropping Cara's diaper bag at her wife's feet and stomping off in the opposite direction, getting lost in the swarms of joggers and tourists.

"Well, that's just dandy," Santana mumbled under her breath, picking up the bag and then heading towards the nearest bench. She sat down with a sigh and looked down at Cara, who was struggling to keep gumming her chest while looking up at her face at the same time. "Now, Aunt Rachel is mad at me. I can never do anything right…"

A few moments later an older woman stopped beside her, while gushing, "Your daughter is just the most adorable little thing!"

Immediately, Santana blushed at the insinuation that the woman had unknowingly made and she shook her head. "Oh, she's not mine, but thank you though."

"You're very welcome," the woman said with a smile and then walked off, leaving Santana to think. She had never considered the possibility of becoming a mother. But she knew that deep down it was something she had always secretly wanted, especially since she already knew that Rachel wanted it. It was just a nerve wracking subject to think about.

"You know…" Santana began, holding her hand up next to Cara's head for comparison in size. "I really do like you and I think that maybe someday I might even want one of you as my own. But it's just that your head is pretty big, definitely bigger than three or even four fingers and fisting isn't really my thing. I just don't know if I could handle it. I mean, I might be able to grow a baby but the whole getting it out part scares me."

Cara had stopped sucking to reveal a nice red hickey on Santana's chest, at which she couldn't help but smile. "You got me good, baby girl," she laughed. But her smile eventually faded and she remembered that Rachel was wandering around the park upset. "Now, we better go find Aunt Rachel."

After a while, Santana found Rachel standing in the middle of one of the many bridges in Central Park looking over the water, obviously deep in thought. She snuck up from behind and gently placed her arms around the smaller woman's waist, causing Cara to be sandwiched between them.

"I'm sorry…"

"It's fine…"

"No, it isn't," Santana insisted, while turning Rachel around and taking her face in her hands. "I hurt your feelings today and that's not fine, so I'm sorry. I never meant to make you think that I don't like kids or anything, because I actually do. It's just…it's intimidating."

Rachel nodded understandingly and then buried her face in Santana's neck, next to Cara. "I know it is, San, and I'm sorry I threw you into this. I just really thought you would like it because Cara seems to like you so much." They both looked down at the baby, finding her staring up at Santana with wide, interested eyes.

The Latina laughed and then without thinking leaned down to kiss Cara's soft hair. "She does seem to like me."

"That's because you're such a lady killer," Rachel giggled, standing on her tip toes to kiss her wife's cheek.

"It's true, but enough about me. I wants to take my girls to see the duck pond."

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Hours after their visit to the park, Santana and Rachel were just dozing off when the baby monitor crackled to life and Cara's muffled cries filled their bedroom.

Rachel started to get up, but Santana eased her back down to the pillows, saying, "Stay…I've got it…" Once her wife had left the room, Rachel snuggled into the warm spot she had left and closed her eyes. But when Santana's voice started to carry over the monitor she couldn't help but perk up, she had evidently forgotten that everything she said would be heard in their bedroom as well and Rachel was perfectly okay with that.

_"Hey there, little lady, don't cry. Aunt San's here and I'm not going to let any big bad monsters get you. In fact, if any monsters try to get my baby girl I'll beat them up myself."_

Rachel began grinning to herself before she even had time to process that it was happening. Hearing Santana say phrases like, 'my baby girl,' was making her heart melt into a puddle. But it was about to get even better.

_"Do you want to hear a fairytale, Cara?"_ the soft, disembodied voice asked when the baby's cries began to quiet. Rachel took the monitor off the nightstand and set it on Santana's pillow. She was curious to hear what tale her wife would be telling because they had never before ventured into their knowledge of fairytales with each other. _"Who am I kidding? Of course you want to hear it, you're a baby and babies love that fairytale stuff, so anyway, here it goes…"_

_ "There was once a fabulous __**fabulous**__ princess – we'll call her Princess Firecracker – who lived in the magical Land of the Lima Beans. Well, actually, it's wasn't that magical. It was actually sort of boring, but whatever, anyway…this princess had pretty much everything she could ever want. She had her fiery attitude, hence the name, she loved to get her mack on, she had an awesome weave that had razorblades just all up in there…which were just for like cuttings things…that weren't humans because um, that wouldn't be nice. And she had flat screen TVs and jewelry and just all these awesome things, but she didn't have the most important thing of all – someone to love. And that was because she was sometimes kind of a bitch – err, I meant mean. Yeah, she was kind of mean."_

Rachel was pretty sure her heart wasn't just melting anymore, it was about to go into failure and flat line due to the overload of cuteness. She was hanging on Santana's every word.

_"But then one day, she met another princess and her name was, um…Princess Munchkin! Now, at first, she didn't like Princess Munchkin at all. She was super loud and she never stopped talking or singing. She was actually wonderful at singing though, so that was kind of nice at times. But anyway, she was just straight up weird. Never stopped talking, always wore knee socks, just really weird stuff like that. But you know what? Princess Firecracker secretly thought those knee socks were sexy as hell, heck! Sexy as heck! And since Princess Munchkin could tell that on the inside Princess Firecracker wasn't a meany, she was just shy and lonely, they eventually fell in love. So, soon enough, they got married and became queens. Don't ask me how that works because I don't know all the technicalities, but somehow they became queens after that."_

Now, Rachel was smiling and sniffling through happy tears while clutching the monitor in her hand.

_"So, now they live happily ever after in New York City, the Land of the Super Expensive High Rises That Queen Firecracker Can Barely Afford. They like to lie around all day getting their mack on and sometimes they even like to babysit their little niece, Princess Cutie Pie. And, maybe someday, they'll even have their very own little prince or princess…right after Queen Firecracker gets brave enough to ask Queen Munchkin to have her babies. But that's a story for another night, so anyway, the End. Goodnight, cutie pie, I love you…"_

Rachel had always silently maintained the theory that Santana would make a great mother – she was strong, protective and a kid at heart herself. But now more than ever she wanted to see that theory play out in real life. As Santana came back to bed, the smaller brunette turned on her side and feigned already being asleep. "Is she okay?" she asked in her best fake sleepy voice.

"She's perfect, sound asleep again," Santana whispered as she molded herself to Rachel's back and embraced her trim waist.

"Good…" Rachel mumbled back. Then, her giddiness over Santana's fairytale got the better of her. "I love you, Queen Firecracker."

Santana immediately tensed, but just as quickly relaxed before asking in an amused yet hesitant voice, "You heard all that?"

"Yes, and to answer the question that you wanted to ask me in the future…yes, I'll have your babies. I would love to actually."

The comment was followed by the Latina nuzzling her face into Rachel's neck, kissing softly. "I love you so much, Rachel, so much," Santana said into her ear. "But now I have another question for you…do you think it would really be bad if we had sex?"

Rachel reached over to turn the baby monitor off; they would be able to hear crying from the next room anyway. Then, she climbed over her wife and laced her fingers through raven colored hair, going in for a kiss. "A quickie or two couldn't hurt…"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

The next morning as Santana made her way to the living room she could already hear Rachel and Brittany gossiping and laughing at her expense. She could just never live some things down.

"You should have heard all the little endearing nicknames she came up with for her. Oh, it was the cutest thing…"

"Even the great Santana is no match for a baby. She's obviously in love with them! You two should think about having one of your own!"

"Well, actually we –"

"What are you two talking about?" Santana asked slyly, eyeing her wife and best friend as she entered the room. "It better not be me."

Rachel shot Brittany a 'don't tell her what I told you' glance and the blonde nodded once in understanding. "We were just talking about the weather…"

Looking them over suspiciously, Santana said, "Hmm, I'm sure. And Brittany, you're just the woman I wanted to talk to. Are you aware of the fact that your daughter gave me a hickey yesterday! What kind of a baby are you raising? I mean, I could obviously be cougar material but that little lesbian needs to learn to control herself!"

At hearing her aunt's voice, Cara unleashed a long string of babbles from where she was sitting propped up against Brittany's body on her lap. And when she extended a chubby fist in her direction, Santana really couldn't resist. She knelt down in front of Brittany and the baby, cooing, "Aw! I'm just kiddin', little lady, I love you!"

Behind Santana's head Rachel was smiling smugly at Brittany and giving her a thumbs up. Mission Get Santana on the Baby Making Bandwagon had been a success.

* * *

><p><strong>Don't even bother saying it, I already know what you all want now! :D Thanks for reading!<strong>


	4. The Fashion of Her Love

**AN: Whoa, so it's been way too long since I've updated any of my stories and it's driving me crazy! For all of you who are waiting for Finding Santana and SLTS updates I PROMISE they are coming soon! Both of them are over half way written, I've just been super busy lately and I apologize for that, I know there's nothing worse than waiting for updates. **

**This one-shot came out of nowhere...actually no it didn't, I've just been obsessed with babies lately and it's making me write all of this future Pezberry! So, the topics covered in this one include - babies, moody Rachel, Fashion Week, pregnancy cravings, celebrity appearances (who I don't own, btw!), and one very whipped Santana! The only thing I own is Ravish, the fictional magazine that San works for...I researched that name to make sure it wasn't already the title of a porn magazine or something and nothing came up...so hopefully it's not! If it is, well then, I don't think San would be above working for an establishment like that either! Enjoy! :)**

**Also, to GorgeousSmile - I'm still working on pretty much all of the prompts you gave me, like all of them are about half written because I loved them so much, haha! But like I said, for some reason domesticity is calling to me! **

* * *

><p>The Fashion of Her Love<p>

It was Saturday night in New York City, but it wasn't just any typical Saturday night in the greatest city in the world – it was the first Saturday night of Fashion Week. And while normally Rachel Lopez was escorted to the week's swank festivities in a sleek black limousine, wearing a one-of-a-kind designer dress, on the bronzed arm of one of the most sought out fashion magazine editors in the city – who also happened to be her wife – this year she sat in a high rise apartment alone.

The decision to remain out of the public eye for the evening was an easy one for Rachel, mainly due to the fact that she was seven and a half months pregnant with her and Santana's first child, a baby girl that they had already named Leila Noelle Lopez. So, while her wife rubbed elbows and clinked glasses of Veuve Clicquot with Anna Wintour and André Leon Talley, she got to watch the live stream of the Alexander McQueen show on her laptop, which was balanced precariously on her largely rounded stomach.

As she scowled at the grainy video which tended to skip every few seconds she wanted to be angry with Santana, but truthfully she wasn't to blame. It was her job after all and the Latina had not fallen short in trying to convince Rachel that no model or snotty socialite could rival her, pregnant or otherwise. But Rachel had argued that she wouldn't be able to enjoy herself in the midst of skin sporting, scantily clad women in Louboutins while she could barely waddle properly on her swollen feet.

_"Any designer you want, sweetheart," Santana purred into her wife's ear as she cradled her swollen belly from behind, while standing in front of a full length mirror. "Name the one and I'll have a dress for you, customized to your every desire…"_

_ Rachel glared into the mirror; it was no secret that Santana was desperately trying to butter her up. She had been trying for weeks to secure her presence during fashion's most important exhibits, insisting that the events wouldn't mean a thing if she wasn't able to show off her wife and their soon-to-be new addition. "They're all busy. In case it slipped your mind, Fashion Week is only a mere ten days away. They don't have the time to tailor dresses to miniature sea mammals like me, that's reserved for women who would require far less bolts of fabric than I." _

_ Moving her hands to gently soothe and caress, Santana kissed the back of the shorter woman's neck. "There's not a woman in this entire city – no, this entire planet – that could outshine you, my love. You have a glow so beautiful that it could shadow any of those models and the best part, is that at the end of the night those girls will take of those fancy dresses and the fairytale will end. But you, you'll take off your dress and still be the most gorgeous woman I've ever had the privilege of setting eyes upon. Nothing could be as beautiful as you are while carrying my baby."_

_ "How poetic, Santana…" Rachel said simply, her voice drab in comparison to the eloquently flowing words. She walked out of the arms that had been embracing her and curled up in bed. "I'm still not going."_

While smacking the side of her laptop screen as if that would somehow make the live stream start functioning properly, Rachel huffed and shamelessly pouted her bottom lip. The show was near to starting and the camera was panning the rows of seats which were still filling with New York's upper crust. She knew that Santana had prime seating, first row and at the most opportune location for viewing and since she wasn't in attendance she was itching to know who had gotten to take the prized spot beside her wife.

_Hopefully an ugly, stuffy old society matron, _she thought bitterly to herself. No sooner did the thought enter her head when the static ridden video cut out and went completely blank. "Damnit!" Rachel cursed, but then swiftly pet her stomach apologetically. "Sorry, baby girl, you can blame that on your mami. She's the one who got me started on such a bad habit."

Moments later the video flickered back to life and by some cruel coincidence the screen was suddenly filled with the live play by play of Santana smiling and delicately holding the hand of a very tall, very goddess-like brunette with the same caramel hued skin.

"Adriana Lima!" Rachel shouted at her laptop in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me!"

She was rapidly beginning to see red. There her wife was, in a short, black, one sleeved Versace dress helping none other than one of the world's most famous models into her seat.

"This is exactly why I didn't go, Leila," she muttered dejectedly, still watching on-screen Santana as she took her own seat, but not without generously laughing at something Adriana had said. "Your mother doesn't want me anymore, she could have any woman she wants. Well, you better just cover your tiny, little ears when she gets home because I'm going to _kindly _remind her of who she's married to!"

Before she could rein them in, the tears had started to well up and all in all, it was just a horrendous night. She was upset and alone, watching her wife have the time of her life while looking fashionable and sexy as always. But that wasn't all that was causing her upset. No, on top of all the things that seemed to be going wrong for Rachel, the worst of them had been sneakily manifesting in her own mind – it was the overwhelming and all consuming presence of a disgustingly atrocious pregnancy craving.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"You know, after your daughter is born you should take your wife to Brasil for a vacation," suggested a sultry female voice, thick with an exotic accent. "It'd be the perfect place for her to relax. You should be spoiling her after all this."

Santana gave a genuine laugh as she let Adriana Lima's hand slip from her own so that she could take her seat. Even though she was a few years older, the model was still as stunning as she had been when Santana was a teenager with a major crush on her, possibly even more so. And although all of her adolescent fantasies were coming true, Santana wasn't an adolescent anymore and if anything, the woman who had been placed beside her was only making her considerably nervous and just a touch uncomfortable. When happily married and missing your wife, it was slightly awkward to have the woman whose life size GQ poster had been plastered on the back of your closet door throughout high school sitting next to you.

"Oh, well, I'm all for spoiling her, but I'll have to see how Rachel feels about visiting remote beaches after gaining weight for nine months!" Santana teased, to which Adriana responded by laughing along and playfully nudging her shoulder. When the model turned to speak to the person on her other side, Santana turned in the opposite direction as well to down the glass of champagne that was waiting on the small table there. Her eyes were trained on the bottom of the crystal flute for a while, but it wasn't long before they were wandering over the scandalously short hem and thighs of another tempting figure, and then another and another.

_It's bad enough that my wife can't come to this damn show, and then the committee goes and gives her seat to Adriana Lima and sandwiches me between __**all three**__ of the Kardashians! _

Just as Santana was hoping that someone would bring her another glass of any type of strong alcohol, a slightly whiny voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Oh my God! You're Santana Lopez, right?" Kim asked enthusiastically, flashing a toothy smile and batting dark lashes that were even more artificially enhanced than Santana's. She extended her hand in a friendly manner, waiting for it to be received. "I've seriously wanted to meet you for like, the longest time! My photo shoot at _**Ravish**_ was like the best I've ever had. Your staff was _amazing_ and I was just _so_ pleased with everything!"

Santana shook her hand and smiled as equally wide, a sense of pride washing over her from hearing such positive feedback. "That's correct, Santana Lopez, editor-in-chief of _**Ravish**_ at your service!" She knew she was flirting and flirting hard at that. But she just couldn't help it; it was practically part of her job to dote on her celebrity clientele and make sure they were pleased. "And you should already know that we aim to satisfy…" The comment was followed up with a wink that had Kim giggling profusely and Santana grinning with both glee and guilt.

"Did you happen to ravish Kim while she was there? Because, she like seriously gushed about that shoot for weeks," Khloe suddenly chimed in. "She was in such a good mood afterwards that we could actually bear to be around her."

"Khloe! That's so unprofessional! I'm so sorry, Santana!" Kim said quickly, before turning to her sister and slapping her arm, hissing, "She's married!"

"So! That doesn't mean she's not still in wit da ladies! It's called a mistress, am I right?" Khloe went on, nodding her head suggestively and waggling her eyebrows.

"Uh, well…" Santana stammered somewhat nervously, while trying not to appear as if the statement actually held truth. She was very much in love with Rachel and cheating on her just because she had made a name for herself had never crossed her mind. Rachel and their unborn daughter were her everything.

Kim tossed her hair over her shoulder, trying to ignore her younger sister. "You're being so annoying and embarrassing right now."

At that, Santana couldn't help but be amused and it only got worse when Khloe continued speaking, not at all fazed by her brazenness. "You know, this one," she said, flipping her index finger towards Kourtney, who had been keeping to herself. "She had a fling in Miami once, so she's down with the Sapphic love! I'm sure you could get her to drop the panties if you really wanted to!"

"Oh my God, Khlo…you seriously need to shut your mouth," Kourtney said in a slow drawl, her face looking annoyed as she fluttered her eyelids but her tone sounding like one of disinterest.

"I'm just sayin'" Khloe shrugged and gave Santana a pointed look.

Santana could do nothing but smile, nod and try to come up with something to say, when really all she could think about was making sure that Rachel was comfortable and content at home. _This is going to be a long show…_

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

After the show Santana had thought that she would finally be able to find a quiet area to call Rachel before the after parties, but instead she was somehow swept into getting pictures taken with not only Adriana, but the current Victoria's Secret Angels as well. It was no secret that she was a lesbian and neither was the platinum and white diamond Tiffany & Co. ring on her left hand either. But still, the models of Victoria's Secret were all grinning like Cheshire cats as they rounded Santana into the middle of a half circle, getting into position for the photographer.

In her earlier days, Santana probably would've loved the arrangement; it was like being a younger, female version of Hugh Hefner. But as Rosie Huntington-Whiteley squeezed her ass and whispered, "Call me," into her ear, all she could do was choke back her yelp of surprise and hope that it hadn't been captured on film.

Finally, after being groped by quite a few women who claimed to be "straight," Santana was able to find a peaceful corner where she could call Rachel. She hadn't carried a clutch that evening, but that didn't keep her from bringing along her cell phone. With a pregnant wife at home she always made sure to have the device no matter how little clothing she seemed to have on. At the gym it was usually stuck in the waistband of her tight yoga pants, while tonight it was squished in between her cleavage.

She dialed the number to her Manhattan penthouse and exhaled heavily as she heard the first ring. The night had been typically hectic and she was so ready to hear Rachel's voice.

"Hello?"

"Hey, sweetheart, how are my baby girls doing tonight?"

"We've been better," Rachel answered coldly.

The tone of her voice made Santana's face fall as she realized it was going to be one of those nights. But, considering she was the one who go to attend Fashion Week while her better half was sacrificing her body to grow a baby, she was going to be understanding of her mood.

"Can I ask what's wrong?"

She heard Rachel snort in disbelief into the phone and then ask, "I don't know, can I ask if you had fun getting your wings?"

Santana's brow screwed up in confusion. It wasn't the first absolutely bonkers thing Rachel had said due to pregnancy hormones, but it was definitely one of the top rated on the crazy scale. "Huh?"

"I saw you flirting with all the Angels!" Rachel spat.

"Now, Rachy," Santana began, fully prepared to use cheesy flattery to calm her wife. "You know you're the only angel I have eyes for…"

"Oh, shut up, Santana," demanded Rachel, not sounding as angry as the Latina had expected her to be. "We can talk about that later, but right now I need you to do something for me…I'm having cravings again…"

A hint of a smile made its way to Santana's face. To her, there was something so endearing about all of the little clichés that went along with pregnancy. The cravings, the neediness, the nights she spent awake rubbing Rachel's belly to soothe their tumbling daughter, and even the crying and the mood swings ended up being mostly adorable. "Anything…I'm leaving in a few minutes, I'll pick up anything you want," Santana vowed, smiling into her phone. The whole of the fashion world may have needed her to report on the latest color palettes, cuts, and trends, but it would never be as satisfying as having Rachel ask her to pick up vegan, raspberry frozen yogurt.

"San…it's so shameful," Rachel whispered quietly, almost making her voice inaudible. "I don't even know if I can say it out loud."

A sniffle could be heard over the line and Santana pressed her cell phone harder against her ear in concern. "Rachel, are you crying? What's wrong?" she asked softly, "I told you I would get anything you wanted. I don't care what it is or where I have to go to get it."

"Okay, I'll tell you, but don't judge me!"

"There's no judgment here, babe, only love."

"Remember when I took you to Strip House for your birthday?"

A devilish grin came over Santana as she recalled the night of her latest birthday months prior. It was definitely one to remember.

_"I can't believe we're having a baby," Santana whispered, her voice hushed. She had Rachel straddling her lap, back against the edge of the table as she ran her fingertips back and forth over the swells of breast that were spilling from her dress. _

_ "I can't believe that we just had sex in a restaurant," Rachel answered back, twisting her body upright again after she had turned to scoop chocolate cake onto a fork. With her hand beneath it, she offered the bite to her wife who silently accepted. _

_ Santana chewed and then dabbed at her mouth with the linen napkin before tossing it back onto the table's surface. "What did you want me to do? You just gave me the best birthday present ever, I had to reciprocate somehow." They had barely gotten their entrées when Rachel couldn't hold back anymore and surprised Santana by blurting out that after their third cycle of IUI it had finally taken. _

_ "And –"_

_ "And two orgasms on top of the table in this private room is what I saw fit," Santana explained, all nonchalance. She smoothed her hands over the form fitting material covering Rachel's lower back and then slid them around to lie on her still flat stomach. "No arguing, mama. You have to let me take care of you now."_

_ "You already do that and very well, I might add." The petite brunette fed another piece of cake and let her eyes roam over her wife's now disheveled outfit. Her black silk shirt was unbuttoned far enough to reveal her La Perla bra and her black pants and belt were undone too. _

_ "Well, even more so then…" Santana said softly, as her eyes traveled upwards and found Rachel's._

_ Reaching up and tenderly stroking the Latina's cheek, Rachel whispered, "You're going to be a great mother, Santana."_

_ The emotions that had been passing through them that evening were intense and soon Santana was hugging Rachel as closely as she could and burying her face in her neck. "As are you, Rach. I love you so much."_

_ "I love you too." When they eventually separated Santana was blinking unshed tears away and Rachel was smiling adoringly at her. "So…what's your birthday wish?" she asked, lightening the subject. _

_ "I have everything I need…" Santana took her fork back, stabbed a chunk of rare filet mignon, and then slid it into her mouth, deliberately letting the tines slide along her teeth. It was difficult to have enough time to actually eat their expensive dinner when they were too busy getting busy. _

_ "You have to wish for something," insisted Rachel, rubbing the other woman's shoulders as she spoke. "Even if it's just something silly, make a wish."_

_ Santana pretended to be deep in thought for a few moments and then a smirk quirked her lips. "I wish…that you would let me feed you a bite of this steak."_

_ Rachel cocked her head and gave her a pointed look. "Santana," she chided._

_ "You said make a wish, and that's my wish…"_

_ After huffing in surrender, Rachel brought her hands to Santana's neck, playfully acting as if she would strangle her. "The things you do to me, Santana Lopez."_

_ "The things you do __**for**__ me, Rachel Lopez," Santana said with a grin. She forked another piece of her filet mignon and then held it up between their faces. "Just one bite…for me."_

_ Throughout their entire relationship it had been an ongoing challenge for Santana to try to get Rachel to eat anything that didn't follow her vegan diet. Rachel had remained steadfast, but as she willingly opened her mouth and let her wife feed her it seemed that her resolve had finally broken. Just to spite Santana she would have loved to make a repulsed face, but the truth of it was that the steak was delicious._

_ "Not so bad…" the petite brunette admitted, although she tried her hardest to seem like she didn't want to absolutely inhale the rest of the bloody steak. _

_ "You loved it!" Santana said brightly. Sometimes the two knew each other better than they knew themselves and it was definitely one of those moments. "You actually loved it!"_

_ "Maybe I did, but it's not vegan and I won't be having anymore."_

_ The reality of the situation was that Santana ended up feeding Rachel the rest of her filet mignon and her chocolate cake, followed by working her into a post-coital haze just one more time. Then, they threw money at the maître d' and went home to their bed for a continued celebration of both birthdays and babies. _

"Well, I want…filet mignon…"

Santana raised two fingers of her free hand to her neck and felt for her pulse, because she needed to make sure she was still alive. Although if she had died she knew that she would have been in a cold and icy place because she was almost positive that Hell had just frozen over. "Alright…that's um…that's a good choice," she said hesitantly, not wanting to cause any upset or excess feelings of guilt for Rachel. But on the inside she was wondering how scientists hadn't harnessed the powers of women's hormones for biological warfare, because they obviously had the ability to drive people to sheer madness. "One filet mignon, coming right up!"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

As Santana sat at a red light in her black on black Lexus LS 460, she wondered aloud, "How the hell am I going to get a steak at this hour!"

It was half past midnight and most restaurants in the city were closing down for the night, specifically the one where Rachel wanted her steak from. Nonetheless, Santana had made a promise that she knew better than to break and when the light turned green she floored it. She was trying to break her bad habit of speeding especially since Rachel kept reminding her that soon she would be driving around precious cargo snuggled in a car seat. But unbeknownst to Rachel, Santana planned on never exceeding thirty – maybe even fifteen – miles per hour once Leila was born.

Twenty minutes and way too many red lights later, Santana was awkwardly holding the bottom of her skimpy dress, trying to keep the hem at a non-explicit length while she quickly clip clopped along the sidewalk in her heels. Just as she had almost reached her destination, she looked over her shoulder just to be cautious (the last thing she needed was for some NYC bum to mug her for the $1200 Jimmy Choos she was teetering on) and then squealed in alarm when she was suddenly knocked flat onto the pavement.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry! I didn't even see you there! Here, let me help you up!"

Santana rolled her eyes as she looked down at herself and smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. She then proceeded to help herself up without even looking at the hand that the man had offered, but it wasn't so easy and soon she was wishing that some bum had stolen her stupid shoes. _I don't need your chivalry, I'm a fucking power lesbian. Maybe you shouldn't have run into me in the first place, you dumb oaf!_

"You good?" the man laughed as he watched her finally get to her feet, only to stumble on a crack in the concrete and have to side step swiftly to correct herself again.

"I'm just lovely!" Santana snapped, continuing to brush herself off. When she eventually looked up to find a middle aged man with a red chef's jacket slung over his shoulder she was eating her words. But the scowl on her face was easily transformed to a warm smile when she realized who had knocked her down and she stuck out her hand. "Hi, I'm Santana Lopez, editor-in-chief of _**Ravish**_ magazine. Sorry about that."

"I know exactly who you are and I'm the one who's sorry. John Schenk, executive chef of Strip House," he replied back, shaking her hand with an equally inviting smile. "May I ask why you're lurking around by yourself at this time of night?"

Santana chuckled mostly to herself and thought about everything that had happened in the past few hours. "Well, you see, it's kind of a funny story…"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

By 1:30 AM, Santana was cutting the engine of the Lexus in the parking garage and nearly having a heart attack as her boobs started vibrating again. Rachel had been sending texts non-stop while she was driving from the restaurant, but she chose to ignore them in favor of arriving home faster.

With a bagful of styrofoam boxes slung over her arm, she raced to the elevator and then into the familiar comfort of their apartment. "Rach, I'm home!" she called, making her way towards their bedroom after kicking off her shoes.

"Do you have it?" Rachel asked tearfully, coming into view as Santana pushed open the door to their room. She was cozied into the middle of their California king bed with a box of tissues at one side and the television remote at the other. The image of Rachel's hands fidgeting nervously over her baby bump made Santana's heart melt and it also made falling on her ass on the corner of 5th and 12th while dressed like a hooker worthwhile.

"Yes, it was no small feat but I got it," the Latina announced. If it hadn't had been for the literal run-in with the head chef she was sure she wouldn't have come home with any steak at all. She set the bag on their shared vanity and then smiled at her wife as she knelt onto the bed, taking her cheek into her hand to guide her into a kiss. Rachel hummed her happiness as Santana pulled back and swiped away the last of her tears. "I know you can't help it sometimes, but I wish you wouldn't cry, sweetheart. You know I hate it when you cry."

"I'll try not to," Rachel said quietly, not trying to hide how pitiful she sounded. The more pitiful she sounded the more Santana would coddle her.

Santana kissed her temple and then got off the bed to go to the kitchen. "I'm just going to get a plate and silverware and then we can get our filet mignon on…"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

The digital numbers glowing on the nightstand rolled over to 3:00 AM even and Santana continued to will herself awake as she rubbed her crying wife's back. It had been hard enough to get Rachel to finally give into her cravings, but once she had actually started eating the meat a floodgate of guilt and tears broke loose.

"It's okay, I promise…people eat this stuff all the time," Santana assured, ready to say just about anything to get to go to sleep.

"Yes! People with much less class, morality and conscience than me!" Rachel shot back.

"I eat steak…"

"And just look at you!" the small woman sobbed through a mouthful of steak. "Actually, this is all _**your**_ fault! You're the one who made me eat that stupid steak with you that night and now look at me! I'm a savage just like you! _And _this doesn't even taste like the one you had!"

Smearing a hand over her now smudged makeup, Santana blinked her eyes wide to focus. "That's because it's cooked well. You can't have rare steak because you're pregnant."

The clattering of a fork being thrown onto ceramic woke Santana up in an instant, accompanied by Rachel's angry voice, yelling, "See! This murder meat isn't even good for Leila! How could you let me do this, Santana!"

"No, no, it's fine if you eat meat. It just shouldn't be rare," the Latina tried to explain. The last time that type of yelling was heard in their apartment it ended with a slap and Santana sleeping on the couch. She hadn't realized that Rachel would take such offense to her confessing that she loved how "sexy and juicy" she looked with the added baby weight.

"Oh, whatever," Rachel said, her voice thick and nasally. She threw herself back against her pillow and turned away. "I'm going to sleep!"

Santana looked to the ceiling in silent thanks and mimicked the action, letting herself fall back. In no time she had her nose nestled into Rachel's hair and was just entering the blurry edges of sleep.

"Santana, I can't sleep. Do you think you could go down on me for while to help me relax?"

Honestly, Santana wanted to scream. But since she had no idea what it was like to gain twenty pounds and carry a bowling ball in her abdomen she shimmied under the comforter and started placing delicate kisses on Rachel's thighs.

"I thought that after tonight you wouldn't want me, that you would want all those models you were with," the woman above her said lightly.

Santana immediately interrupted her work to look up into Rachel's dark eyes. It was the silliest thing she had heard in a while but she didn't mind disproving it. "Rachel, I love you and I would do anything for you, _no one_ could come between that," she spoke sincerely. "Do you really think I would be paying thousands of dollars for sperm and medical bills and filet mignon if I didn't plan on loving you and taking care of you and our baby girl?" Rachel shrugged bashfully, so Santana went on further. "You know that I would never be unfaithful. You and Leila are my whole world and then some."

A fresh mess of tears started anew, but Rachel was flashing her winning smile. "I know…I believe you and I love you too."

Santana nodded in approval, kissed the underside of her stomach and then went to work on putting her wife to bed.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Two orgasms and an unidentifiable amount of time later, Santana was just learning that tongues could indeed cramp. She couldn't see the clock because she was suffocating under the sheets, but since she could hear infomercials playing on the television she knew that it had to be some outrageous hour of the morning.

Rachel had finally and thankfully passed out, leaving her to roll onto her side and gasp for air. She decided that sleeping in a cave of blankets would have to suffice though, because there was no way she could move any further. In the dark, her cheek found the curve of Rachel's belly as did her hand and she pecked it once more before whispering, "Love you, Leila," and closing her eyes.

A few peaceful minutes passed where she listened to Rachel's heartbeat and then she heard the worst sound imaginable – her alarm clock.

"Babe, your alarm is going off," Rachel said in a faint, sleepy voice and then patted the small bump next to the bigger bump that she knew to be Santana's head. After the attention she had gotten she wasn't the least bit disturbed by the shrill tone.

"I can hear it…" came the pained groan.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

The first Sunday of Fashion Week turned out to be an even bigger nightmare than Saturday. In her office, Santana was dropping Visine into her bleary eyes like it was her job, while her real job went basically undone. Her assistant had also caught her sleeping at least once, head down over crossed arms on top of her desk.

_It's just a week, it's just a week, _she repeated in her mind, while also telling herself, _Rachel has been enduring morning sickness, mood swings and sleepless nights for almost eight months. Woman up, Lopez!_

Once she had another round of eye drops in her, she was able to see a little more clearly and she couldn't help but smile when her eyes found the framed 3D ultrasound picture next to her computer screen. She knew that once their daughter was born both of their nights would be sleepless, but it would be so worth it.

Picking up her phone, she dialed her now suspicious assistant and gave her a very specific set of instructions. Then, she crossed her arms behind her head, kicked her feet up on her desk and decided that she had just about the best life ever.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Rachel was online charging Ralph Lauren infant clothing to one of Santana's cards when the doorman came up carrying a crystal vase filled with light pink roses.

"From your wife, Mrs. Lopez," the man informed, handing over the flowers and nodding dutifully before taking his leave.

"Thank you…" she replied absently, as she dug around for the tiny card that Santana always hand wrote.

_For my girls, Rachel & Leila,_

_Two dozen roses, one for each of you for each night that I'm away this week and a few more just because I love you. Thank you for being so understanding, Rach, my love for you will never go out of fashion._

_Love,_

_ ~ Santana_

* * *

><p><strong>Soo...can you tell that I'm kind of obsessed with sexy, ethnic brunettes, haha? Probably pretty obvious by now! But that doesn't explain why my girlfriend of 5 years is a tall, blonde, Heather Morris doppelganger (seriously! But she's better because she's actually a lesbian ;)...I don't know how that happened, lol! Thanks for reading and look for other updates soon! :)<strong>


	5. Horror Movies & Home Invasion

**AN: Hey, guys! This is just another one-shot in the series of prompts that GorgeousSmile gave me and it involves S & R watching some scary movies. R gets scared, S doesn't, but soon chaos ensues! Ridiculousness ahead! :D**

**Btw, thanks for all of the reviews, alerts, and favorites for the other one-shots. If you ever have any ideas for more just leave it in a review or send me a message, I'd love to hear it. I've already taken a few into consideration!**

* * *

><p>Horror Movies &amp; Home Invasion<p>

"The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you! He brought you low by his bloodstained cross! Do not despise my command because you know me to be a sinner. It's God himself who –"

"Oh my gosh, Santana, turn it off!" Rachel wailed against her girlfriend's neck, where she had been shielding her eyes for most of the time they had been watching _The Exorcist_, or at least since seeing the split pea soup vomit and the backbend down the staircase. "It's too much!"

With an amused giggle, Santana switched off the DVD and the sounds being emitted from the television went from demonic to the boring drone of newscasters. Secretly, she was thrilled that their horror movie marathon had ended exactly how she hoped it would – with Rachel squished up against her, too scared to leave her side. Watching anything remotely scary always resulted in one very clingy, cuddly girlfriend for Santana, but she loved it that way.

"Alright, no more movies for tonight," she said, making Rachel sigh with relief but not release her death grip. With her forefinger, she tucked a few stray strands of hair behind the petite brunette's ear and then whispered into it, "Now, how about we go take a nice hot shower and then work our way to my bed so we can get our sexy on?"

Rachel hesitated, but eventually the prospect of taking advantage of having the house to themselves won out and she started to get up off the couch. "Fine, but I'm only agreeing because now I'm too frightened to let you out of my sight."

Santana then led her girlfriend to her bathroom with a smug smirk in place. _Worked like a charm…_

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

When Santana had Rachel's wrists pinned above her head under the shower spray while using one hand to smooth down her ribcage to her hip, that was the moment she knew that watching horror movies always paid off.

"Tell me how you want it," Santana rasped in her girlfriend's ear, and then flattened her tongue along her neck to taste the water droplets there. Her fingertips came to a stop just under Rachel's navel, just barely stroking and teasing the soft skin. "How about I get on my knees for you and –"

A muffled crash coming from her bedroom cut Santana off and she turned her head in the direction of the offending sound, wondering what dared to interrupt her.

"What was that?" Rachel asked quickly, already beginning to sound panicked. She was glad to have her back against the shower tiles, with Santana acting as a barrier between her and whatever had created the noise.

"Probably just the wind or something, I don't know. Now, where was I?"

Rachel didn't care how lusty Santana's voice sounded slithering past her lips, when she heard another crash and a then a repetitive series of bangs she collapsed down to sit in the bathtub. She dragged the taller girl with her as she sought a hiding place from whatever was just in the next room. "Probably just the wind!" she mocked back in a disbelieving hiss. "Santana, that is like the most cliché and over-used line to ever come from horror movies! And you know what? It's never the wind! It means someone is out there!"

"What the hell," Santana snapped, rubbing the knee that had been abused during her fall into the tub. "There's no one in my room. God, it's fun when you get all cuddly after those movies but now you're just actin' a fool."

As if the universe needed to prove the girl's statement wrong, the rhythmic beat of a Ke$ha song suddenly reached their ears – loud and clear. Santana's eyes widened in a way that would have been comical if Rachel wasn't so scared and then she ducked down even further.

"Oh, shit…" the Latina whispered, looping her arm through her girlfriend's and pulling her closer into her body. She figured that they had to be in the worst position ever for a home burglary; naked with the shower running and not a weapon in sight. "Who the fuck is that? The cars are in the driveway, who would try something right now?"

"Obviously someone who wants to steal an iPod, but has no idea how to work it properly!" Rachel whispered frantically. "If he's going to kill us he could have at least given us a Broadway soundtrack to die to!"

"We're not going to die, at least I don't think we are…I hope we aren't…"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"And now we lookin' like pimps in my gold Trans Am! Got a water bottle full of whiskey in my hand bag! Got my drunk text on, I'll regret it in the mornin'! But tonight, I don't give a…"

Brittany belted out one of her favorite artists' songs at the top of her lungs while jumping up and down on her best friend's bed in her usual carefree, blissfully ignorant fashion. The headboard smashed into the wall every so often but she thought nothing of it. She was having too much fun concentrating on trying to jump high enough to get her head to touch the ceiling. She figured she was either going to knock herself out by completing the goal or leave a fat head-shaped hole in the drywall, but either way it was going to be awesome.

Her whole reason for scaling the tree limbs outside the window – to tell Santana that she had finally figured out how calendars worked – had been forgotten when her blue eyes set on the black iPod in the room.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"Too bad neither of us wears a damn crucifix around our neck like stupid Quinn," Santana whispered harshly, while she tried to rack her brain for a good plan of escape or attack.

Rachel was cowering into her girlfriend for protection that she really wouldn't be able to provide. At the most, Santana was two or three inches taller and if any axe murderer wanted to get them it was obvious that he wouldn't have much of a struggle. "I'm Jewish…and I think Quinn would be the smart one in this situation!"

"Oh, whatever, you know what I mean," the Latina spat back. So far the only remotely appropriate idea that she had come up with was to grab a toothbrush and put the intruder's eye out. "Do you think the Star of David has the same effect?"

"That priest was saying the power of _Christ_ compels you, not the power of Yahweh!" Rachel said and then quietly moaned her helplessness. "We're going to die," she sniffled, "we're going to be killed and our bodies are going to be chopped into tiny unidentifiable pieces and tossed into a bottomless lake of hopelessness!"

"Speaking of Señor JC…Jesus Christ, dramatic enough, Rachel!" At that moment, Santana would have admitted to being scared but even if her house was being ransacked she was pretty sure that she wasn't about to be murdered. "What about holy water?"

"Do you have any just lying around!" Rachel questioned sarcastically.

For emphasis, Santana extended a hand and let the water still pouring over them fill her hand. "We're sitting in a _running_ shower. Can't we just say a little prayer and call it holy!"

"Um…no!"

Suddenly realizing that she was letting her imagination and reality mingle, Santana stood up from the bathtub with determination. There wasn't any demonic, supernatural being in her room. It was probably just some punk from her neighborhood trying to mess with her and she would be damned if she let that happen. "What are we even saying! We don't need any religious relics to beat some loser's ass!"

Rachel followed her girlfriend, but only because she couldn't bear losing her grip on her bicep. "What if he beats our asses first!"

Silence then enveloped the bathroom as Santana turned to the smaller girl in shock. "You just swore…" she said slowly. Even under pain of death she never thought the day would come when she would hear Rachel curse.

"Santana, we're on the verge of dying! I don't care about what I say anymore!" Rachel exclaimed in exasperation, tossing her head as if agitated. "Now, think! What kind of makeshift weapons are contained in a bathroom? Wait, how about a razor?"

"I don't shave my legs with a straight razor, Rach!" Santana retorted. She then crept out of the shower as quietly as possible and made her way to one of the cupboards below the sink. Both girls winced as the door squeaked on its hinges, but when no other sound replied from the bedroom they figured they were in the clear. Santana fumbled around a bit before finally extracting what she had been looking for – a toilet plunger.

Rachel's face transformed to one of disbelief and then she angrily furrowed her brows, still peeking out from around the shower curtain. "And just what is that supposed to do for us?"

"There are no other options!" Santana hissed, setting her weapon on the tile floor. A towel was the next item she sought out and she wrapped the plush fabric around her torso before tucking it together like a toga. "Time for some ass whoopin'…"

"Wait, I have another idea," Rachel began, taking a second towel from the bar. Santana had expected her to wrap herself up as well, but instead Rachel twisted the towel around her face, forming a pseudo hood/face mask combination.

"What are you doing? This isn't time for dress-up!"

"It's not dress-up," Rachel explained, mumbling past her headgear and taking yet another towel to begin securing it over her girlfriend's annoyed looking face. "It's a tactic often used by nature's fiercest animals to fend off potential predators. By wearing these we'll not only have protection, but we'll have also created a guise of mystery that will provide a factor of intimidation for our foe."

Santana just stared for a few seconds, before eventually saying, "Fine, we'll wear the silly turbans. Now, let's do this thing!"

"Ooh!" Rachel practically squealed as Santana moved closer towards the door, making her turn around with a glare and her index finger raised to her lips. "Look what I found!" the little brunette said in half a whisper, while holding up a can of aerosol hairspray.

"Yippy skippy, Rach!" Santana whispered back, as she shook her less than intimidating weapon. "You found hairspray in a teenage girl's bathroom! Now for the last time, let's go! You can scold me for ruining the earth's ozone layer with that shit later!" Without any warning at all, Rachel was suddenly spritzing Santana right in the face with the fruity scented spray. "Ow! That burns! Why the hell would you do that?"

Rachel rolled her eyes as Santana rubbed at her own eyes through her towel mask. "If you wouldn't be so rude and you would actually give me a chance to speak, then you would know that I was planning on using this to incapacitate the intruder."

"So you decide to coat _my_ eyeballs in hairspray instead?" Santana shouted and then quickly looked to the door in alarm, hoping that whoever was out there hadn't heard her.

"Well, now you know it works, don't you?" Rachel taunted and gave another spritz, though this one was just meant to make her girlfriend flinch.

Santana's face softened before she stepped to Rachel and wrapped an arm about her waist. "You're pretty badass when you wanna be," she whispered, looking down her nose at the smaller girl. "If we do die, just know that I love you, Rachel Berry. No matter how loud and talkative and Broadway obsessed you are, you'll always have my heart."

Closing her eyes and tilting her head back, Rachel allowed herself to be taken in a kiss. "This feels like one of those old, romantic films," she said, her lips brushing against Santana's as she spoke. "Like the moment when the heroine and the damsel admit their undying love for one another right before their worlds come crashing down around them."

"And then…" the Latina rasped into her ear, drawing out her words to heighten the anticipation. "You look over and realize I'm holding a toilet plunger."

"It's still romantic to me," Rachel said almost whimsically. But then her eyes lit with something Santana wasn't used to and she was abruptly spouting, "Now, let's go kick some ass!"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

When Santana tore from the bathroom howling like a banshee with plunger blazing, while Rachel brought up the rear and let loose a cloud of airway-choking hairspray, something unexpected happened and the "intruder" that had them professing their love and scared for their lives promptly fell off the bed screaming.

The Latina tore her towel from her face in surprise. "Brittany?"

"Santana?" Brittany called back, her head peeking up past the side of the bed.

"Well yeah!" Santana exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air exaggeratedly. "Who do you think?"

The blonde slowly clambering back to her feet and narrowed her eyes as she took in her best friend and Rachel's strange terry-cloth outfits. "Why are you dressed so scary?" she asked, cocking her head to the side.

"They're disguises," Rachel huffed, taking the towel off her head that just seemed silly now. "Or at least they were."

"Like what the fuck, Britt!" Santana went on. She was too keyed up to let her friend's antics go that easily and she was waving her toilet plunger more fiercely than ever. "We thought you were a burglar! Do you realize that I was about to kill you with a toilet plunger? Do you think it's okay for you to just come bargin' right up in here? What if we had been busy making lady babies and you just decided that you needed to climb the drain pipe and jump on my bed! What then?"

Brittany winced a little at the angry tone and looked down to her feet, but after a few seconds she raised her head again. "But I knew you weren't making lady babies because last week when I was going to come up I heard Rachel moaning your name from your backyard, so I knew you were probably busy…she wasn't yelling this time so I figured it would be alright."

"Oh my…" Rachel said to herself. She used the chore of taking the towels and hairspray back to the bathroom to hide the blush that was forming on her cheeks. Not only had Brittany overhead she and her girlfriend mid-coitus, apparently their affection for each other had been loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.

Santana's eyes followed the small brunette back to the bathroom, and then she turned back to her friend and tightened her towel around her torso. "You're gonna make this up to me, Britt," she said, pointing at the blonde. "You're buying me BreadstiX or something 'cause you just wiped out all chances of me getting' my mack on tonight. And believe me, I was abouts to get it good tonight."

"Sounds like you get it good every night," Brittany mumbled. "So, what are you guys doing tonight? I'm bored," she informed, now shamelessly pouting after being scolded.

"I'm supposed to be having sex, duh" Santana said, not trying at all to hide her annoyance and frustration. Then, she jerked her thumb in Rachel's direction when she reemerged. "We were watching horror movies, but the little one here got too scared."

"Horror movies!" Suddenly, Brittany was her usual peppy self again and she was nearly bouncing as she sat down on the edge of the bed, pumping her fists in the air. "I love horror movies! Let's watch some more! Come on, Rachel, can we? San and I will keep you safe from monsters!"

"I don't know…of course, I know they're just fictional, but –"

"Please, please, please, please, please!" Brittany begged as she literally fell to her knees in front of Rachel.

"Jesus, Britt, get up off the floor," Santana said with an eye roll. "We'll watch the damn movies. Just let us get dressed first…"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

An hour later, all three girls were smashed together in Santana's large bed as they watched _The Shining_. Santana was lying in the middle with her arms around the shoulders of both girls who were cowering into her chest.

"I thought you liked these movies?" Rachel whispered across her girlfriend's chest to Brittany. Her voice was partially muffled, as she was wearing one of Santana's hoodies with the perfume scented material pulled up over her nose. The fact that it smelled familiar and comforting was just as important as the fact that she was also wearing the hood, allowing only her eyes to peek out from between.

"I accidentally lied!" Brittany admitted as she pulled Santana's hand back down to shield her eyes.

Santana hummed a laugh, smirked at the television screen and crossed one ankle over the other. With a blonde to her left and a brunette to her right, that was twice as many boobs pressed into her sides and legs tangled up in her own, and she couldn't say that she minded horror movies one bit. "Don't worry, ladies, Santana is right here to keep you snuggled up and safe."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Have a great morningafternoon/evening!**


	6. Pillow Fight

**Soo...here's another one-shot in this series that I felt compelled to publish because I've been such an awful author and I haven't updated anything else in forever. I guess I have like writer's block or something, I don't know what's wrong with me! I'm not even going to mention when I might possibly be updating my other stories because I really have no idea, but just know that I am working on them, so hopefully soon. I feel bad! :(**

**It was mentioned in Chapter 4 that R & S got into a fight after S inadvertently called R "fat," and this is more of an elaboration on that situation. **

**As always, thanks so much for the reviews, alerts and favorites for this series, and if you have any suggestions just let me know! :)**

* * *

><p>Pillow Fight<p>

"Rach, why are you so upset? It was meant to be a compliment!"

"Calling your wife fat is not paying her a compliment!"

Rachel had a pillow in one hand while the other gripped Santana by the bicep, irately escorting her from their room and to the couch as she tried to reason her way back into their bed. "I didn't say you were fat! I meant that I love how you look with the extra baby weight, I love your curves, you look so sexy and juicy and – "

They stopped suddenly in the hallway and the noise of skin smacking against skin (and not the good kind) made Santana scrunch her eyes closed and wrinkle her nose as she let the warm sting from Rachel's palm settle into her cheek. She most definitely had that coming; not even a man would be stupid enough to combine the words sexy and juicy in a sentence that pertained to his pregnant wife.

"I deserved that," Santana said slowly, still wearing a wince but daring to peek one of her eyes open. She was hoping that if she looked pathetic enough that Rachel would forgive the indiscretion and let her right her wrongs. But no such luck.

"Of course you did!" Rachel shouted back, although her voice was tighter than it had been, a telltale sign that she was on the verge of a crying jag. "Why do you have to be such a bitch!"

Santana studied her wife carefully, trying to find something unfunny about the situation when everything seemed to be hilarious. But in short, Rachel was a hormonal, hot mess and Santana knew that sooner rather than later she was going to have a conniption over the fact that she had resorted to mild violence. "Okay, honey," she began neutrally, wondering if she would make a good member of a bomb squad considering all of her practice trying to diffuse Rachel. But when her amusement betrayed her and the corner of her lip quirked ever so slightly, she got her answer and it was definitely a no. "Maybe we should try talk – "

"Oh, so now you're going to laugh at me!" the smaller brunette practically sobbed as she pointed her finger in accusation. Taking Santana by the arm once more, she began dragging her toward the living room again and met no resistance. "First! You call me fat! Second! You make me turn to spousal abuse," the extra jerk she used to pull Santana along only emphasized that fact, "and then, you laugh at me! Well, have fun sleeping on the couch! Fuck you!"

"Whoa! Watch the language, you have a baby on board," Santana chuckled.

In rapid succession, Rachel released her and began pummeling her over the head with the pillow she carried. "_You're…so…impossible!"_ she gritted out between swings.

"Rachel, stop!" Santana was lost in a full blown fit of laughter and her forearm was her only shield against her crazed wife. Throwing herself onto the couch, she used her legs to keep her attacker at bay while using her hands to push her hair from her eyes. "This isn't a fair fight…you know I won't hit back!"

"That's why I'm doing it!" Rachel raged on, landing a few more blows before throwing the pillow over Santana's face. Cautiously, Santana slowly moved the pillow away and took a chance in wearing a crooked grin, which resulted in more berating. "Stop smiling, Santana, this isn't funny! And don't even think about coming back to _my_ bed, you're no longer welcome!"

Rachel stood with her hands on her hips and waited for her wife to start groveling, because surely she was in the wrong. But when Santana only continued to lounge back on the couch with her pillow and bite her lip through a smirk, she gave up all together. "I have to rest now…you know, I'm carrying _your_ child and all," she said, trying not to make it obvious that she wanted Santana to put up at least a bit of a fight.

"Alright, then," Santana answered with nonchalance, and then stuffed her pillow under her head and turned away to fully lie down. "Love you, hope you and the baby sleep well."

"Ugh! And fuck you some more for still being nice!"

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Rachel barely made it a half an hour before her levelheadedness came back and she was standing with the bedroom door open just a crack, waiting and listening for footsteps on the hardwood floor. One would think that a multimillion dollar penthouse in Manhattan wouldn't have creaky floors, but she was thankful that theirs had just one floorboard that always seemed to creak perfectly under Santana's weight. Whether it was when she came home late from work or when she spent long hours of the night in her office down the hall, it always made Rachel anticipate arms being wrapped around her from behind and kisses being placed on the back of her neck.

After waiting at the door for an amount of time that her back and swollen feet deemed long enough, Rachel went back to the bed and sat down. The idea of Santana, cold and alone in the living room, was nagging at her and the guilt was gnawing on her mind even worse. And if she was honest and excused her pride, she had to admit that Santana had been trying to help earlier and her intentions had been (sort of) innocent.

"_Look at this!"_

_Santana, who had been reading one of their many newly acquired baby books with a crease between her brows, set the book beside her on the bed and blinked her eyes. Most of her day was spent reading and editing magazine article after magazine article, but at her better half's insistence she had vowed to finish reading all of the new literature before the baby was born. "What's wrong, babe?"_

"_Can't you tell what's wrong?" Rachel asked as she tugged at the hem of her white tank top, doing an unsuccessful job of trying to get it over her distended stomach. "I'm outgrowing my clothes faster than someone with Elephantiasis!"_

"_I thought it was Elephantitis," Santana commented. She met Rachel in the middle of their room and tried to pull the tank top down herself, finding it humorous when the soft, white material would just spring back up again. _

"_It's a commonly mispronounced word – wait! Don't try to distract me from this."_

_Running her hands over Rachel's stomach, Santana bowed her head and brushed their cheeks together. "We'll go shopping tomorrow. Just leave it for now…or, you know…take it off."_

_The shorter of the two brunettes sighed and let her body go slack against her wife's. "And why should I do that?"_

"_I think you know why," Santana whispered and then kissed the upper shell of Rachel's ear. She didn't dare be too rough with a bite or graze of teeth, that was only likely to make Rachel's temper flare. But she couldn't have known that she would inadvertently do the same thing by opening her big mouth anyway. "Without clothes," she began, sliding her palms from waist to hips. "I can get my hands all on these new curves…"_

"_**What!"**_

A wince marred Rachel's features as she realized just how over the top she had gotten after Santana's harmless comment. It wasn't her wife who she was mad at, she was mad at that stupidly undersized tank top for no longer fitting and at her feet for throbbing and at her emotions for going haywire. And it was obvious – although she really hated to admit it – that she definitely owed Santana an apology. So, after taking another pillow and the blanket that had been folded at the foot of the bed, she reluctantly made her way back to the living room.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

"San?" Rachel called in a hushed voice as she approached the couch and tried to gauge whether or not its occupant was already asleep. Santana wasn't a light sleeper and she had the unnatural ability to fall asleep practically anywhere, but a small selfish part of Rachel's mind hoped that she was still awake and feeling guilty about what she had said earlier.

"Mmphh," was the simple, grunted response that she received. And she didn't even really know if it could be considered a response; it was normal for Santana to moan and groan in her sleep as well.

"Santana?"

"_Yes, Rachel,"_ Santana finally gritted out, turning from her side where she faced the back of the couch to lie on her stomach, where she could keep her eyes concealed in the cushions. Jerkily, she crossed her arms over her head and then sighed deeply as if she was trying to relax enough to drift off again.

Restraining herself from whamming an unsuspecting yet still aggravating Santana with another pillow, Rachel placed a hand over her ink black hair instead. She would have been lying if she said that she didn't want to give the tendrils a bit of a tug, but she tried to be nice anyway. "Honey, I brought you an extra pillow," she whispered as she ran her fingers through it. "I know if you sleep with just one that your neck gets a kink in it…"

"Great of you to notice but I'm not sure why you care," Santana mumbled back, her words muffled by the leather she had her face pressed into.

Slowly, with her face screwed up in a scowl, Rachel twisted Santana's long hair into her fist without actually pulling or making it obvious that she wanted to just yank it out. Then, she remembered that she had come bearing apologies and she released it again in favor of tenderly dragging her fingernails over her wife's scalp. "I brought you a blanket too. I didn't want you to be cold."

Santana huffed and kicked her foot off the side of the couch. "It's the middle of July, Rachel. We have the air on and my tits are still sticking to this leather, I don't want your damn blanket."

"Well, it's not my fault that you just waltz around half naked!" Rachel snapped, feeling her temper elevating again.

"Well!" Santana mocked as she threw herself onto her back, shamelessly revealing her bare chest and her unbuttoned plaid pajama shorts that left little to the imagination. "It's hot and I was planning on having sex until you freaked out and hauled me out here, so actually it is your fault!"

"Whatever, maybe it is!" Rachel gave in and then tossed her arms out, not knowing what else to say. She figured pity was the only out she had left and she gave a little whimper before admitting, "But I just feel so alone in that big bed all by myself…"

"You are alone and that's exactly what you wanted."

Stomping her foot and then kicking the couch, Rachel went on with her whining. "Okay, fine! I'll just say it! I miss my wife and I can't sleep without her next to me."

"Then you might consider getting a dog or something else to take your wife's place," Santana answered back just as easily. Then, under her breath she muttered, "And whoever your wife is, she must be one hell of a woman to put up with you."

"She is," Rachel said softly, making Santana peek one eye open at the sincerity in her voice. "But she's also difficult, stubborn and irritating beyond belief, and _sometimes_ I question why I married her!" she finished in a yell and then gave the couch another kick.

Used to that type of behavior, Santana only rolled her eyes beneath their lids and laced her hands over her stomach. The insults were going to have to be a lot less generic than that if they were going to elicit a reaction from her. "That's nice, dear…"

"Santana, please…"

There was no answer after her final plea and Rachel knew that it wouldn't do her any good to stand around waiting. Giving up on her first plan she trudged back upstairs to begin on the second one, but not before draping the blanket over Santana and placing the extra pillow beside her.

~S~R~S~R~S~R~S~R~

Once Rachel was out of earshot, Santana sat up and stared into the darkened hallway that she had disappeared down. Exhaling heavily, she let her shoulders slump and rested her face in her hands. She didn't know what bouquet of flowers would fix this screw-up, especially when she had exhausted most of her resources. Throughout her marriage she had managed to make so many blunders that at any given time she had at least two florists on rotation on speed dial. No stone had been unturned in the lengths she had gone to impress Rachel after a few of their petty arguments, but now she was sure that there were no more continents from which to import exotic floral arrangements. This time she herself would probably have to venture into the Amazon, hunting some rare yet beautiful plant that would inevitably stake her with its poison thorns, leaving her to die at Rachel's feet. But that still wasn't a fool proof plan when it came to Rachel's standards. It was just a bad situation.

As she contemplated whether she should just buy Rachel a new piece of jewelry or if she should start planning her jungle huntress adventure, the sound of footsteps started echoing down the hallway again.

Quickly burying her face in the second pillow, Santana flopped back onto the couch and pretended to be asleep. There wouldn't be any adventures to plan if her wife killed her first, only a funeral.

"Move over!"

The loud demand startled Santana, but she had to fake nearly falling off the couch as she rolled over to find Rachel glaring at her, another pillow and blanket in hand. "You scared the hell out of me," she hissed, pressing a hand to her chest and running the other through her hair. It was half truth, half lie.

"It couldn't be helped," Rachel stated matter-of-factly as she shoved her pillow on top of the others and then lied down, wriggling around until she was pressed into Santana's side.

After almost catching an elbow with her nose, Santana began squirming as well, trying to get comfortable when she was already hot and Rachel was insisting on lying all over her. "This couch isn't big enough for this…just go back upstairs…this is no way for a pregnant woman to be sleeping."

"Well, that's the problem," Rachel said as she finally settled on her side with Santana spooning her back. "I think the baby knows I'm upset because it won't stop moving around. Santana…even if you're angry with me, don't neglect the baby, okay? Rub my belly for me?"

That was the last straw, the dull knife straight to the heart. No one could come back from a request like that. Without a word of acknowledgment, Santana reached her hand over Rachel's hip and under the hem of her too-small tank top to caress her fingers back and forth. Ever since the baby's movements had become strong enough to feel it had been her nightly tradition to rub Rachel's stomach as they fell asleep. It seemed that tradition wouldn't be broken; it was just that that night she would do it with a scowl on her face.

"Are you still mad?"

Santana exhaled hard enough to stir the ends of Rachel's hair where they lied on her shoulder and she hoped that was answer enough for the question.

"Do you want a divorce?"

This time she snorted and buried her nose further into the back of Rachel's neck, fully prepared to go back to sleep without responding.

"Are you going to tell everyone that I'm mentally insane so that the court system will rule in your favor during the custody battle and give you the baby after our divorce is finalized?"

Although she didn't want to, Santana had to smile anyway. But what harm would it cause to make Rachel sweat a little longer? Probably just bodily harm, probably her own.

As usual, Santana's idea of a sly game backfired in the most simple of ways and soon Rachel was trembling and sobbing, "Oh my God, you are, aren't you!"

"Rachel…" she said in both warning and sympathy. Wrapping her arm fully around her wife, she kissed at the back of her neck and held her close. "We're not getting divorced. Pillow fights cannot end in divorce, only snuggles."

Rachel hummed her amusement and tucked her chin closer to her chest as she pushed back into Santana. Then, there were a few seconds of silence before she hesitantly asked, "I got a little carried away earlier, didn't I?"

"No, no…" Santana feigned disinterest and a yawn. "I like being slapped."

"Fine, I completely overacted and I apologize for slapping you _and _hitting you with a pillow…"

"Well, I kind of liked the pillow fight…"

This prompted Rachel to turn over and rely on the arm around her waist to not let her fall over the edge of the couch. "You did?" she tried to clarify.

Santana nodded and laid a noisy kiss on the forehead that had already been pressed against her lips. "Yeah, we should do it again. Only next time let's do it in our room…you'll get naked and hit me with pillows, then you'll feel bad and let me sex you up."

Rachel contemplated for just a moment before voicing a legitimate concern. "I'm not sure if pillow fights are really the most ideal pastime for a pregnant woman..."

"You can lie on the bed and hit me, you don't even have to move."

"Alright…but will you be naked too?"

"Definitely!"

"Deal!"


End file.
